


Fallen In Love For The First Time (This Time I Know It's For Real)

by sweetbutterbliss



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Betting on Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Eames, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eames Has Poor Boundaries, Frottage, Handcuffs, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pansexual Eames, Pining, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hums and turns to look. Arthur reaches up and pulls his head down. The angle is awkward, but Arthur's mouth is wet, and warm, and responsive. He tastes of pizza and faintly of toothpaste as his tongue swipes into Eames' mouth. Eames pushes Arthur back down on the couch and crawls over him, holding himself up on his elbows as he kisses back. They stay like that, stopping to pant into each other's space and smile at each other. They're absently rocking into each other, but it's an afterthought.  Arthur's hands are gripping the back of Eames' arms and he might have bruises later but the thought pleases him. He uses the leverage of his elbows to rock down harder and Arthur moans loudly. Eames laughs, burying his face in Arthur's neck to breathe him in and worry a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind his ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen In Love For The First Time (This Time I Know It's For Real)

**Author's Note:**

> Another submission for the Inception Reverse Big Bang. My lovely artist was [FruityShirts.](http://fruityshirts.livejournal.com/6389.html) It was great to collaborate with her, maybe we can do it again.
> 
> Title from the Queen song [I Want to Break Free ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-Zo4AVL7AE)
> 
> Since I have never been to Seatle (because I am lame) the descriptions are based on talking to [Zoe. ](http://giantpacificoctopus.tumblr.com/) I'm pretty sure she's not even in this fandom, so go give her thanks!
> 
> As always beta'd by [Heather.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HTH31/pseuds/HTH31)

"Eamesie's fucked more dreamers then anyone I know. Even if the bird knows he's coming, she still falls for his shit," Levi shakes his head as he holds the edges of his model together and waits for it to dry.

"You musn't forget all the blokes, mate," Yusuf calls from across the warehouse.

Eames smirks and shrugs, ignoring the scowl of their pointman, Brady who slams his laptop shut and stands.

"I really think this conversation is bordering on sexual harassment. Can we get back to fucking work? I'm sure Peggy really doesn't appreciate this kind of talk."

Peggy, the extractor, looks up and waves her hand around magnanimously. "I don't care. Been there, done that."

Brady scoffs and tugs his cuffs down, his neck turning a bright red. Eames remembers how he'd been red all the way down his chest when they'd slept together on their last job.

"Be that as it may, our employer is expecting work, not locker room talk."

Eames puts his pen in his mouth and holds his hands up; even though he hadn't actually said anything, Brady was definitely addressing him. Eames whirls his chair around, chewing on his pen and pretending to look busy over pictures of the mark's daughter. Truth is, he perfected his forge a week ago. He busies himself watching the dust motes float in the shafts of sunlight, his eyes growing sleepy.

"Oi, we're going out for a drink. You in, you ol' man whore?" Yusuf claps him on the shoulder, grinning in the way that only an old friend can right after they've insulted you.

"No one pays me, thank you very much," Eames raises an eyebrow and stands to grab his coat.

"Eh. Semantics. Shall we?"

"Only if you promise to wear those fetching goggles the whole time."

Yusuf reaches up to feel his safety goggles scootched up on top of his head and pulls them off with a laugh, tossing them on top of the desk.

***

"You know who that stick-in-the-mud pointman reminds me of?" Levi gestures with his third pint.

"Arthur?" Yusuf guesses, cheerfully weaving in his seat.

"Bite your tongue," Eames admonishes.

"But really, doesn't he?" Levi persists.

"I'll allow that he's a dreadful copy of the lovely Arthur. As though he's done a very poor forgery. Very poor indeed. American beer is shit," Eames looks around for the waitress.

"Speaking of Arthur...that's one you've never conquered, so to speak."

"True, I haven't had the pleasure," Eames gives up his search and resigns himself to the watered down swill in his glass.

They're in one of those awful 'sports' bars that Americans love so much. With all the garish signs, football blaring across the giant screens, drunken men yelling obscenities at them as though that'll change the outcome. The only saving grace is the darling waitresses in their tiny shorts, but theirs has disappeared. Levi shakes his empty glass and gets up, stumbling to the bar.

"I don't think you could have Arthur," Yusuf declares.

Eames' head snaps around and he glares. "I can have anyone, Yusuf, don't be ridiculous. I've had dyed in the wool 'straight' boys sucking my cock within a day."

Yusuf frowns and blinks. He raises a finger in the air. "You've never had me!"

"That's merely because I haven't tried, mate. Hold on to your bollocks when I do." 

Yusuf is quiet, staring into his empty glass, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. Eames shoulders him further into the booth, afraid he's going to keel over. 

"But we were talking about Arthur!"

"Were we?"

Levi returns with a round of shots, passing them out before he sits down.

"What about Arthur?"

"I bet Eames that he couldn't fuck him! No one's ever seen Arthur with anyone. Ever."

"It's cause he's a robot," Levi nods sagely.

"Right. Well I bet Eames £500,000 that he can't fuck him."

"Right, I'll take that bet," Eames rolls his eyes and pulls the shot glass away from Yusuf.

"It has to be actual sex, no rubbing against each other, or hand jobs. I demand penetration."

Levi and Eames look at each other and then burst out laughing at Yusuf, who quickly turns a bright shade of red.

"I mean...Arthur and Eames. Not me. I don't demand it for myself."

"Try it, you might like it," Eames pats his friend on the shoulder.

"It doesn't matter who's..on top. Just actual fucking," Yusuf soldiers on, ignoring the other two.

"I bet you five bucks that you can't even get him to go on a date."

"Now that _is_ a bet I'll take." Eames raises Yusuf's shot and tips it back.

"There has to be a time limit. Six months and then you owe me," Yusuf continues on, his eyes unfocused.

"Ooookay. I think it's time we got you into bed."

After settling the tab, it takes the two of them to get Yusuf out and into a cab. Eames volunteers to be the one to tuck him in and leaves a glass of water and two paracetamol on the bedside table before pouring himself into his own bed two floors down.

***

He'd entirely forgotten about it, spending his take from the job in Vegas. Sometimes he craves the ringing sounds and neon lights of a real casino. It's just a bonus that it has some of the best people watching available on Earth. He always sees something that he'll add to a forgery later on.

He has a job in Seattle with Arthur and Ariadne. She's a brilliant architect but has evolved into an even better extractor. Eames supposes that a basic nosy nature combined with the refusal to accept no for an answer makes her a natural. And with Arthur vouching for her, she can get any job she wants, with any pay out she wants. Which is why Eames has agreed to take the job. He doesn't know much about it but he has faith that Arthur will have a hefty dossier prepared, and maybe even a lovely PowerPoint presentation.

Eames amuses himself imagining Arthur hunting down clipart that pertains to dreaming while he waits for his hotel wifi to load. He skims his email, deleting most of them and saving the relevant ones. He opens one from Yusuf, suspecting it's a job offer or a new somnacin formula he's peddling, but he couldn't be more wrong.

He blinks at the laptop. When did he agree to this? He re-reads the email, his brow furrowing further.

_I see that you're working with our favourite pointman in a week. I'm a generous man, so I won't start the timer until the moment the job starts. You have six months until then to lose all your money to me. Half a million, and don't thing that will be in dollars, mate. I expect it in sterling, lovely strong currency that it is. Good luck, and I eagerly anticipate spending all my new found riches._

_BTW, if you could be so kind as to tell Ariadne hello for me. Just casual, you know. Let me know if she says anything back. Anything at all._

_Cheers._

Eames scowls. Bloody Sterling. Yusuf is delusional. The idiot will be paid in Dong if Eames has anything to say about it. _Here's your three bloody dollars, you twat._

He leans back in his chair, scratching at his bristly chin. The idea of betting on sex leaves him feeling a bit dirty. Not enough to say no to half a million just for getting in Arthur's tight trousers though. He'd do that for nothing. He hates to lose, and while he's exorbitantly confident in himself, he also knows Arthur. Arthur of the waistcoasts and wool suits in Brazil heat, of the rare dimpled smile and the slightly less rare bodily threats to Eames' person.

Eames is cheeky and lovely, if he says so himself, but Arthur doesn't appreciate that as he should. He cringes thinking of what Arthur will do to him if he finds out about the bet. Make good on his threat to use Eames' intestines as a skipping rope probably. The challenge though; it's too easy to bat his eyelashes and get someone into bed. Seducing Arthur will need a whole new level of technique. He only has to find the path that works.

***

Eames bangs in late, but without any fanfare in his defense. They're working in an abandoned warehouse. Again. Eames will be having words with Ari; just because Arthur thinks they're the be all and end all doesn't mean they can't rent out a hotel or even an office building. He scowls when the door sticks and he has to jerk it open. It's a big open space with desks that only Arthur could have arranged. His own is the only empty one, sitting diagonally to where Arthur sits, a familiar picture bent over his Moleskine with a frown.

"Eames!" Ariadne shouts, the words echoing around the interior of the warehouse. She runs to him, her face lit up and knocks into him, startling an 'oof' out of him before he realizes it's a hug. Leave it to Ari to give such aggressive and invasive hugs. He has no choice but to hug back and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

"Eames," Arthur's voice is quiet as he stands and nods in Eames' direction. "I'd reprimand you for being late, but I expected it from you anyway."

"Naturally. You're always two or twenty steps ahead of me, darling," Eames releases Ari to shake Arthur's hand; his skin soft and dry. Eames holds on just a bit too long, searching Arthur's brown eyes.

"Right. Uh. Let me show you around," Arthur narrows his eyes and steps away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers.

There isn't a chemist, Arthur has gotten all the somnacin from Yusuf, with the promise of him flying in if anything needs altering. There's an architect, a sweaty child named Parris. Arthur assures Eames that he is in fact 25.

"Good lord. And that's not a child?" Eames ignores Parris' (with two Rs) scowl, since it earns him a flash of a smile from Arthur. 

"Eames," Ari stands with her arms akimbo, "I've heard the most awful rumors about you."

Arthur raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Ari, I wouldn't believe that."

Eames turns around, surprised. "Thank you for defending my honor, poppet."

"Ah, no. I mean don't believe they're just rumors. Eames, you have no honor to defend."

Eames scowls and turns his back on Arthur, his chin tilted up. He sniffs loudly.

"Anyway. Lovely Ari, let's catch up. I've heard a number of rumors about you as well."

"Oh I hope they're scandalous," she hooks her hand through the crook of Eames' offered arm and they walk off to Eames' desk where he perches on the side and Ari flops into the creaking desk chair.

***

"Oi, Arthur. Did you pick the warehouse that smelled the strongest of fish?" Eames is developing a bit of a headache and he's spent most of the day watching Arthur bend over; the way his trousers pull tight across his perfect arse is very distracting. He's removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and Eames has spent a whole hour watching the way his muscles shift and move as he takes apart the PASIV and cleans it lovingly. The hair on his arms is dark and surprisingly thick for a man as well groomed as Arthur.

He tries to focus on something else; Parris is a mess, Ari is perfectly lovely about him but she constantly finds fault with his models or ideas. Eames is pretty sure that the man will melt into a sad, pathetic puddle before the week is out. 

"Wanna come get coffee with me, Eames?" Arthur has snuck up on him, rolling his sleeves back down and grinning at him.

"I prefer tea, love," he still moves to stand and gather his coat.

Arthur scoffs. "You don't come to Seattle and not drink coffee, you ridiculous Englishman." 

"And proud of it, you stick in the mud American."

Arthur barks out a laugh and waves to Ari before they leave. 

***

Eames accepts his coffee with a huff and refuses to admit that it's good. He licks his lips to chase the taste and doesn't miss the way Arthur's eyes track the movement. So he does it again, slower. Deliberate. Arthur gets pink high across his cheeks and takes a hasty sip of his coffee to disguise it.

They're standing beneath the awning around the side of the building, rain drizzling down as they finish their cups. Arthur tilts his head up, a tiny smile teasing out of the corner of his mouth.

"I love the smell of rain."

"Yes. The smell of wet dog and moldy buildings. Lovely."

"Shut up. It's the smell of ozone. Besides I'd imagine it'd remind you of home."

Eames glares at him. "It doesn't rain that much, you cheeky fucker."

Arthur shrugs and smiles fully. His perfect coif is slipping and a lock of hair falls across his forehead. He smoothes it back with a frown and dumps his empty cup into the trash. Eames drains the very last of his own and throws it in after Arthur's.

"And it's called petrichor," Arthur looks at him blankly, confused by the seeming non-sequitur. "The smell. Of rain. Not just a ruggedly handsome face, you know," Eames winks at him.

"Are you ready to get wet then?" Arthur flips the collar of his coat up and hunches his shoulders. 

Before he can make a move, Eames steps into his space, lightly pushing him against the damp brick wall. Arthur raises an eyebrow and gasps, his mouth a perfect circle when Eames presses against him. He takes Arthur's wrists and holds them, circled gently, down beside his hips. He leans in and flicks his tongue over Arthur's mouth.

"W-what are you doing?"

"I'm looking to get wet with you," Eames smirks and raises his eyebrows. He presses his face into Arthur's neck and bites gently. Arthur moves then and within the space of a few seconds Eames is blinking the rain out of his eyes, his ass on the concrete, with Arthur standing over him breathing heavily.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Eames?" he doesn't wait for an answer, stepping over Eames to leave.

Eames heaves himself up with a groan. He's definitely going to have a sore arse tomorrow, and not the fun kind. He sighs as he watches Arthur's rental car splash out of the parking lot. It stops only to turn on its blinker and turn into the flow of traffic, leaving him behind.

***

Eames spends the night pointing angrily at nothing and gnashing his teeth together. He'd taken a shower, still angrily muttering about ungrateful, posh pointmen who can't appreciate a good thing even when it's right in their face. Pressing them against a wall. A wet, scratchy, brick wall next to a garbage can. Yeah, maybe he could've done better.

The next morning he has a better plan. He'll have Arthur rolling between his sheets by the end of the week. He brings coffee in, remembering Arthur's order from yesterday, and sets it near the man's elbow. He pushes it closer with his fingers and Arthur glares up at him, but he takes the coffee and his shoulders relax minutely after the first few sips.

"Thank you," he mumbles, turning back to his work. It isn't a declaration of desperate sexual desire, but Eames will take it. For now. He nods and goes back to his desk. He spends the next few hours reading the files and making notes on who will be the best person to forge.

***

Eames does _not_ have Arthur rolling in the sheets by the end of the week, or the next week. None of his usual tricks seem to be working. He's licked his lips so many times that Ariadne has given him a three pack of Chapstick with a concerned, maternal look. He'd mumbled his thanks and used the cherry one right away. He'd seen Arthur watching, his adorable ears tipped red, but when Eames winked and smacked his lips Arthur immediately frowned and returned to work.

Arthur doesn't appreciated the constant closeness, edging away with a nervous fidget, and when Eames makes a lewd comment about his arse he just leaves the room mid-sentence. Eames can't help it if Arthur wears too-tight trousers and has such a nice, round arse. He's jerking off so much that he's considering using the Chapstick for his sodding dick.

The only thing that gets a genuine smile is the coffee and pastry he brings for Arthur every morning. He's discovered that, though he's very fit, Arthur has a terrible sweet tooth and Eames enjoys very much to watch him eat and drink the brown sugar water he likes to call coffee. His eyes flutter shut and he makes little noises that make Eames want to tear his hair out, or tear Arthur out of his designer clothes. So far he's only been successful with his hair.

Two weeks in he goes to give Arthur a massage and gets stabbed with an exacto knife for his troubles. He's 99% sure that it wasn't an accident, no matter how many times Arthur insists that he'd _just slipped._

Eames cradles his bleeding hand to his chest, and Arthur looks feral, grinning with his teeth on show, and his eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," he says flatly, wiping the blade off on his dark handkerchief. As though it isn't Eames' blood all over it.

Ariadne tapes him up and sends him home with another concerned, maternal look. He isn't sure she has another look when it comes to him anymore.

That night, he takes too many painkillers and drinks too many tiny bottles of liquor. Why do they make them so tiny? A real man needs something bigger, something that will fit in his manly man hands. Eames considers that he might be drunk, despite their infuriating size. He lies on the too fluffy comforter, with the eight hundred thread count pillows, and shuts his eyes. When the room stops spinning, he can only see Arthur being obscene while eating his breakfast; it's the only time Eames sees him relax for even a moment. Maybe he needs a change of tactic.

He rolls onto his side, determined to come up with a new idea, and promptly passes out with his shoes still on.

***

He wakes up to someone muttering his name. The light is burning against the back of his eyelids before he even opens them.

"Turn off the sun would you, love?" he brings up his hand to cover his face and the movement jostles his head. He lets out a low moan as the world tilts one way and his stomach tilts the other. He freezes and swallows, hoping against hope that he won't throw up on himself. He isn't sure if he can make it to the shower and he doesn't relish the idea of sitting in his own sick.

"Eames. You're an idiot."

"Yes. I am," he cracks a lid and shuts it again immediately. "Is that the dulcet tones of my dear, stabby Arthur I hear?"

"Eames, Ari says I have to apologize. But I'm not going to."

"Ah. Color me surprised," Eames edges his eyes open, letting the light sear his retinas a little at a time.

"I shouldn't have to. You've been gross since the job started. We're co-workers. There are boundaries," Arthur huffs. Eames can't tell but he thinks his arms are crossed and he's scowling.

"You look so thoroughly charming when you frown so hard at me," Eames attempts to roll onto his side now that his eyes are working again.

"You don't know what my face is doing," Arthur says, petulantly.

Eames would laugh but he knows it'll hurt so he just smiles. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"You're missing the point here. You've made me uncomfortable. So I stabbed you."

"I thought it was an accident," Eames swings himself up and sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, regretting his life choices.

He hears Arthur make an angry noise and he puts up a hand.

"Arthur, love. I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I was trying to make you very, very comfortable," he attempts a rough, sexy tone, but he just barely manages a weak wobble.

"See, _that_ bullshit. It has to stop."

Eames heaves a sigh. "Okay, I was being gross and inappropriate. I'll cease and desist immediately."

"Alright. That's...thank you," Arthur sounds surprised, and Eames looks up to see him stiff and rocking from side to side.

"I brought you Tylenol and ginger ale," he gestures to the side table.

"Oh, you are an angel of mercy," Eames gingerly sips from the can and can already feel his stomach settling. What he needs is a giant greasy breakfast. That would really sort him out. And a shower, he's offending himself now that he's noticed.

"What's the deal, Eames? You've never acted like that before. Normally you're...you know...normal. Ish."

"You should've been a writer, poppet."

"Eames, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here," Arthur slumps down next to him on the bed, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Fine. I was only trying to woo you," Eames' attempt at an air of offended dignity deflates at Arthur's single raised eyebrow.

"Woo me? By sexually harassing me at work?" his voice is flat, but his mouth is upticked in a tiny smile.

"When you put it that way..."

Arthur rests a hand on Eames' thigh and bumps their shoulders. He's all out smiling now.

"What are you...mmmggmm,"

Arthur kisses him, it's small and dry and when Eames tries to get himself together and kiss back, Arthur pulls away with a laugh.

"Try harder, Mr. Eames."

He stands up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. Eames is dazed and can't make himself speak a single word before Arthur walks out without a backward glance.

He presses his fingers to his mouth.

"Right. Try harder, then."

He's going to woo the shit out of Arthur. Arthur won't know what's hit him. But first he's going to go back to sleep because he feels like he's been run over. Repeatedly.

***

Eames gives it a week, washing away the taste of his failed attempts, before trying again. During this time, he gets several rudely titled emails from Yusuf that he deletes without reading. He continues to bring Arthur breakfast and continues to stare too much while Arthur licks powdered sugar from his fingers. He tries not to be creepy about it, but he's only human. And Arthur sucking his long fingers into his mouth is very dangerous for Eames.

He shakes himself and goes back to actual work. Hie does a few test runs with Ariadne, and she's pleased with his forge of the mark's beloved mother. Flipping open his laptop that night, he looks up romantic restaurants in Seattle, imagining that Arthur would want somewhere small and unimpressive but that does brilliant things with their menu.

Google is entirely unhelpful with those search parameters though. So he settles for a tiny Italian restaurant that he's been passing on his way to the coffee shop. 

Taking a deep breath, he leans against Arthur's desk.

"Arthur, darling. Are you busy tonight?"

"Of course I am, Eames. I'm a pointman. Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd mind accompanying me to dinner?"

Arthur looks up, his eyes narrowing, and Eames does his best to keep his expression blank and as un-harrasmenty as possible. It seems to work because Arthur nods slowly and then turns back to the spreadsheets he's been wrangling with for the past few hours.

Eames lets out the breath he's been holding and waits until he gets outside to do a little victory dance. He freezes when he hears laughter and finds Ariadne standing a few feet away, a cigarette drooping from her fingers. 

"I'm just getting some air," he manages, with a dignified sniff.

"Right. Sure," he can hear Ariadne giggle as he strides away, his hands tucked into his pockets.

A shaky feeling rises up in his throat, a dash of excitement and fear mixed together, just enough to make his stomach hurt. He hasn't been this excited about a date in...well...he can't actually remember. It must be the money; he's anticipating all the money. That's definitely what it is. Except it's not really that much money compared to what he's made on jobs before. Then it must be the thrill of victory, that's what it is. He's going to lord this over Yusuf, and that's what has him so giddy. He swallows past the sour feeling of guilt and shame; Eames doesn't believe in that kind of moral shit. He shakes it off and continues his walk, imagining Arthur sitting too close to him in a dark booth, elbows bumping together as they eat and laugh. He doesn't realize he's smiling to himself until he notices his face hurting from it.

***

The dinner does not go well. Eames wouldn't go so far as to say it was a disaster, but it definitely isn't how he'd imagined it. The food is terrible - overcooked pasta with tinned tomato paste. Arthur is game and eats a few bites, but he can't keep a straight face. The wine may as well be vinegar for how disgusting it is.

Eames keeps apologizing and fiddling with his utensils, but Arthur just shakes his head and assures Eames that it's fine, his mouth set in a thin line. Eames watches him pick up his glass of wine for the fourth time and put it right back down when he remembers it's not palatable. 

"This is bloody ridiculous, let's get out of here," Eames tosses too much money on the table and takes Arthur's hand to haul him out of the booth. Arthur smiles properly for the first time and follows easily.

They find themselves on the sidewalk, busy with Friday night foot traffic. Eames bites his lip and steers them toward the hotel, unable to stop himself from letting out a disappointed sigh as he opens his mouth to apologize again.

"Stop fucking apologizing, Eames," Arthur's bright smile belies his words, and he tucks himself against Eames' side, looping an arm through Eames'.

Eames feels warm and fuzzy, like he's had a few beers, but everything also seems sharper in the same minute. He looks down at Arthur's hand on his forearm, pressing lightly, and he feels proud. The jostling crowd can see that this man, this brilliant, beautiful man is with him. Eames feels his stomach sink. This isn't his, this is all a ruse and he mentally kicks himself. This has an endgame and, more than likely, a fall out. For the first time, his throat feels tight at the thought of someone hating him after sex. He realizes with sudden clarity that he couldn't stand it if Arthur hated him.

"Look. Let's try this place. It can't be any worse right?" Arthur points out a green truck, parked in an open space off the street with a crowd gathered around it.

Eames lets himself be led to the truck and checks out the menu. The words are familiar and he sees things like fish & chips, and steak & kidney pie. He scowls, American versions of anything are always piss poor in his experience. He strikes up a conversation with the man in the truck window, who's from London, and they take a few minutes to trade stories about old neighborhoods and possible connections. Eames loves finding other transplants, it always makes him a tad homesick but also reminds him why he left too.

He bundles Arthur over to a bench and hands him his portion of fish and chips, with mushy peas.

"So, they're just peas, but...mushed?" Arthur pokes at the green mess hesitantly.

"Yes, love. The name says it all," he crunches into the fillet and is pleasantly surprised at how good it is.

"How do you do that?" Arthur muses, still poking at his food like it's about to attack.

"Uh...you pick it up and eat it," Eames demonstrates, licking his fingers of the grease and bits that flake off. He's pleased when Arthur's eyes darken and track his movements.

"No. I mean, how do you just make friends with everyone?" Arthur takes a tentative bite, leaning forward to spare his suit.

"I know you don't think so, but some people find me charming. It's inexplicable, I know," he smiles cheekily and steals one of Arthur's chips.

"Steal the peas if you have to steal something," Arthur chews thoughtfully. "I think you're charming. I just never know when you're being real."

"I'm offended," Eames sniffs 

"No you're not," Arthur laughs.

"Well, I'm right here, ask away."

"And you'll be honest?"

"Of course. One time only offer," he wipes his mouth and turns his body to face Arthur, spreading out his hands.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Oh? Easy then. I'd say yellow. A burnt yellow."

"Ugh. Like mustard yellow. I'll burn that shirt the first chance I get."

He hands over his plastic fork and holds the container while Eames eats his peas, his face thoughtful.

"Do you like dogs?"

"I do. Love them. Never been able to have one. But when I retire I'll adopt every single one I see. I'll walk them all at once and be covered in dog hair everyday."

"That sounds nice, actually. Not the dog hair, but all the dogs."

"They're a bit of a package deal, darling."

Arthur is silent and then his face twists into a frown and his eyes darken, in a decidedly non-sexy way.

"Why are you suddenly pursuing me?" Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Eames' heart stutters and he sifts through the truth. He has a sudden urge to just blurt it all out, apologize, and walk away. Instead, he goes for the half truth.

"For the pleasure of your company."

Arthur pulls the fork out of his hand and stands to drop their trash in the bin.

"I want to go to bed."

The walk back is chilly and Arthur walks two steps ahead of him, only answering questions with terse, one-word answers. Eames flounders at the abrupt change, falling back after Arthur snaps at him for the third time, shuffling along and watching the sidewalk. 

At the hotel, Arthur holds the elevator doors open to Eames' surprise. He hurries in and presses for his own floor before slumping against the mirrored wall, letting his head thump against the mirror.

Arthur makes a frustrated noise and is suddenly in Eames' space, their chests pressed together and his hands slipping up Eames' shoulders to cup his neck. Arthur's fingers run through the short hairs at the base of his neck, tugging lightly.

"Arthur?" Eames steadies himself with his hands on Arthur's slim hips, thumbs pressed against his hipbones beneath his waistcoat. 

"Shut the fuck up," Arthur uses his grip to tilt Eames' head and is suddenly kissing him. It's not a small kiss this time; Eames feels overwhelmed at the heat of Arthur's mouth and tongue. He kisses back, pushing his tongue into Arthur's willing mouth, and the sound Arthur makes is helpless and maybe the hottest thing Eames has ever heard. He groans back, slipping his hands around to tug the back of Arthur's shirt out of his trousers. He slides fingers up Arthur's spine, scratching lightly, and Arthur arches into it. His cock is hard against Eames' hip, and they grind together as Eames uses one hand to grab Arthur's ass and pull him closer while pushing back against him. The friction makes Arthur tip his head back with loud moan, so Eames gently bites at the exposed skin of his neck and listens to his shuddering breath before kissing him again. Eames worries he's going to come in his pants, right there in the elevator, and really hopes that Arthur will wait for him to get it up again so he can fuck him properly. Or Arthur could fuck him right away, that might be better. Arthur's hands are wrapped around his biceps, squeezing and releasing unconsciously as he kisses back. Eames only dimly hears the chime that signals Arthur's floor before Arthur is pulling back abruptly out of his reach.

Eames feels cold all down his front, and he's left leaning forward toward Arthur, making a pained and confused noise. He reaches for Arthur, who steps out into the hall and holds up his hand to stop Eames from following.

"Sometimes. I fucking hate you, Eames," he says, right before the doors close.

Eames blinks; he's confused and painfully turned on, his lips are swollen and his throat is dry. He hasn't the foggiest what just happened, so he stares blankly at his reflection in the door - his hair is standing on end and his shirt is half unbuttoned. He doesn't even remember Arthur doing that. At his floor, he barely gets into his room before he's dropping onto the couch and pushing his jeans down just enough to get his cock out and jerk it quickly and angrily. He comes with a gasp and drops his head back against the couch.

He really needs to get it the fuck together. This is turning out harder than he originally thought, and not just because Arthur is a tough nut to crack. He's developing a worrying feeling in his stomach and a happy buzz in his head whenever he's around Arthur. Even when he just thinks of the infuriating fucker. 

***  
The next day at work he brings the usual breakfast, and a bouquet of flowers. Arthur doesn't acknowledge the gesture, but the flowers end up in a makeshift vase made out of a travel coffee mug and are set next to the coffee machine. Eames has a happy feeling as he finds himself beaming at the chipped mug of cheap daisies. _("I think Daises are the best flowers, Eames. They're small, and people forget about them, but they manage to be so cheerful all the time.")_

He lets out an unhappy groan and drops his head into his hands.

He really, really needs to get it the fuck together.

***

Eames is going to burst if he doesn't get a response soon. It's been two weeks of dinners, and flowers, and watching Arthur smile and talk but not give away anything. He knows Arthur's favorite color (blue-grey), his first kiss (Amanda, when he was 11), his hometown (Berkeley), and a thousand other inane facts that make up Arthur's life. But it isn't Arthur. He never sees the way he was that first night, relaxed and tucked into Eames' side. He's pleasant, and he laughs at Eames' stories, but he's completely closed off. Eames tries to bring up the elevator incident once, and Arthur left the restaurant so fast that Eames' head had spun. The next morning Arthur hadn't mentioned it, so Eames let it lie.

Arthur keeps agreeing to their dates though. They spend time going through all the booths at Pike Place, they find tunnels that echo with the wind, and everything smells like incense. Arthur is delighted when they discover a tiny store selling dried herbs and trinkets, that Eames always buys for him because he's discovered, to his unutterable shame, that he cannot deny Arthur anything. 

Eames can't figure the little fucker out and it's itching beneath his skin. He runs into Parris in the hotel bar while drowning his sorrows in substandard whiskey. Parris is very receptive to Eames' charms, and he's very cute - he has soft downy hairs on his arms, and a little wet mouth surrounded by the scratchy beginnings of a beard. 

But, all Eames can think about is how Arthur would look with a beard. Probably naff, he suspects. Patchy and wiry. He imagines how Arthur would look with beard burn on his neck and that's a much better picture. He shakes himself out and smirks at Parris before making his excuses.

To go and jerk off to the thought of Arthur, and rubbing his own beard all along those lovely, pale, long legs. _Fucking pathetic_ he thinks, as he clears the mess off his stomach.

***

"What are you doing here?" Arthur hisses, his gun out and pointed in the air.

"I'm bored, love. It turns out my forge was unnecessary. Our mark seems to like soft, blonde young men like our dear Parris. So Parris distracting him while Ari works her magic."

He leans against the wall beside Arthur's shoulder, his own gun held loose at his side. The projections are milling in the dream lobby around the corner. They're restless, but not in attack mode. Eames would rather not get ripped limb from limb, so he hopes they stay that way.

"Why are you ignoring me, Arthur?" Eames whispers across Arthur's shoulder. Arthur shudders visibly but regains his composure quickly.

"I'm working a job right now. I don't have time for you," Arthur frowns hard enough that Eames is worried he might sprain something.

"I don't mean right now. But...earlier."

"Eames we've been out to dinner almost every night, how is that 'ignoring' you?" he actually makes air quotes, the unbelievable bastard.

Eames tugs on Arthur's tie, pulling him closer. Arthur resists initially, then gives in with a pained sigh, letting Eames drag him closer, their faces inches apart. Eames wraps the tie tighter around his hand, brushing his lips across Arthur's as he does. It's barely even a kiss, but Arthur's eyes flutter shut and he groans quietly.

"I know you want me, why are you resisting?" Eames whispers, punctuating the sentence with another kiss.

"Stop. Please," Arthur murmurs, not a little desperate. 

Eames releases him and steps back, eyes wide at Arthur's request.

"Of course, love. All you had to do is ask," Eames can't even look at Arthur. "Since I'm not needed then, I think I'll see you topside."

He sees Arthur wince and reach for him before he pulls the trigger, waking up with a gasp next to the whirring of the PASIV and his sleeping colleagues.

***

Arthur doesn't speak to him much after the job, no one does. They do the clean up, wiping away fingerprints and setting the room to rights. They move in sync from years of covering their tracks. They go their separate ways, and 48 hours later they receive a text from a blocked number assuring them of their payout. All very routine.

Except Eames has never felt this hollow after a job. Not even after the Fischer job. Normally Eames would find someone right away to take the edge off his anxiety. He's well aware of how ridiculous his coping skills are, but they work, so he doesn't actually give a shit. He just wants to go and lie face down in his bed, and ignore his phone and the world at large.

Especially Yusuf, who's already sending gloating countdown texts.

Where better to ignore the world than Las Vegas? So he goes out and gambles, he eats too much and drinks too much, then at the end of the day he falls into bed alone. He wakes up a week into his personal self destruction schedule, blinks at the oppressive Nevada sun, and rolls over with a groan.

He takes stock; he smells rank and he's pretty sure he's wearing someone else's shoes. His body aches and his stomach roils with hunger and nausea both. He flings an arm over his eyes and tries to avoid what a sad sack he is by sleeping again.

His phone dings and he searches for it in his pockets, spilling chips across the bed and rattling them onto the floor. It's Yusuf, sending him his bank transfer information _'since you only have three days left ;) '_

He throws the phone onto the floor. Grown men should not send other grown men winky faces, he decides. He doesn't reply. Three days left and he's given up; sitting in his hotel with...it's possible his own sick is smeared down his chest, and fucking moping. He's embarrassed to know himself. 

He needs to reclaim his dignity. Give it one last go. With his new motivation, he rolls out of bed too quickly.

And immediately sinks to the floor, dry heaving while his balance rolls around him. He needs food and a shower, but first he'll lie here 'cause the tile feels nice against his cheek. He'll get up in a minute, he's sure of it. Reclaiming of dignity can wait until he's had a small nap.

***

It takes him half the day to feel human again, and to find his spare pair of shoes tucked into his luggage. He knows Arthur is in California again, because he's a creeper and has kept track of him, even in his stupor. He lands at LAX and grits his teeth against the pounding headache that returns violently, brought on by jetlag, and the tourists just standing in clumps like fucking sheep. He barely manages not to scream at them when they block his path. He does make low 'baaing' noises and is rewarded with a stern look from someone's gran.

He hails a cab and tips his head back against the seat, his eyes closed and his baseball cap pulled low. He dozes and wakes up feeling disoriented. The cabbie is huffing impatiently at him, gesturing to the house they're parked outside. Eames grins sheepishly and pays, leaving a sizable tip. He climbs out of the cab, smoothing his t-shirt down and hauling his duffel over his shoulder.

Arthur's home is nothing like he'd imagined. If he'd ever thought about it, he'd imagined harsh lines, and lots of metal, with maybe some abstract ugly sculpture in front. He did not imagine plastic flamingos. Or gnomes squatting in well maintained flower beds. Maybe he has the wrong address. He wouldn't put it past Arthur to lead people on a false trail.

But no, there's Arthur in his doorway, arms akimbo. Eames approaches and Arthur's face seems to get darker the closer he gets. As though just the mere proximity of Eames infuriates him. Eames' heart stutters and he thinks that maybe this was a terrible idea. His legs feel like wood but he forces himself to keep walking, gripping the strap of his bag with a sweaty hand.

"Hello, Arthur. I was just in the..." he stops when Arthur holds up a hand.

"What the fuck, Eames. How do you even know where I live?"

Eames only raises an eyebrow, hoping that conveys casually that _I'm an international criminal who knows things, Arthur_ and not _I'm a bit of a stalker who's tracked your movements for a while now, sorry about that._

Arthur sighs, his shoulders rounding forward, and he leaves the door open as he shuffles back into his home. Eames decides that's as good as an invitation and follows him in, shutting the door gently behind him. He drops his bag in the foyer and toes his shoes off, setting them neatly next to a battered pair of running shoes and a shiny pair of Ferragamos. 

Cozy is the first word he thinks as he turns the corner into the living room. Cold would have been what he expected, but he's completely and happily wrong. It's a mostly open floor plan, the living room is all light wood and huge open windows, the sun spilling across the many, many bookcases and overstuffed pillows. The kitchen is just as beautiful, full of gleaming appliances and a huge butcher's block with stools shoved around it.

He imagines Arthur curled up on a couch with his rarely seen reading glasses, while Eames makes dinner in the kitchen. He shakes his head, because that's not the end game here. He'll probably never see this house again and may even have to take a break from Arthur. Arthur doesn't seem the kind to do one night stands or to take kindly to them when they're over.

He realizes he's been gaping at the house while Arthur slumps on a stool in his kitchen, a wine glass placed in front of him.

"Isn't it a bit early, love?"

He straddles the stool next to him, their arms brushing as he settles himself.

"What do you want, Eames?" Arthur's voice is flat and he hasn't even looked up; he's busy watching the red liquid swirl in his glass. He takes a sip and tips his head back to swallow.

Eames grips the edge of the stool to keep himself from reaching for Arthur and just fucking licking right up the column of his throat and biting behind his ear.

"I just wanted to see you."

"Right. No ulterior motives. Do you know what today is, Eames?"

_Two days before I'm out half a million pounds?_

"Today would have been Mal's birthday. So if you don't mind, I'm not up for your shit today," Arthur mutters around the rim of his glass.

Eames feel his heart thud as it sinks. "I'm so sorry, poppet. I didn't know."

"No. You didn't know her that well, did you?"

"I knew her well enough to know that it was our loss. She was lovely, wild, and probably would've hated me if she'd known me better."

Arthur scoffs and there's a hint of a smile lingering on his face. "She would've loved you."

"This just won't do. I need to steal your car," Eames presses a hand to the countertop, leans forward, and brushes his mouth against Arthur's before hauling himself up.

He scoops Arthur's keys out of the little ceramic bowl next to the front door. 

"Eames? You're leaving?"

"Yes. But I have a good reason. Promise."

Arthur gapes at him as he leaves and shuts the door with a bang.

***

An hour and a half later he knocks on Arthur's door, juggling his packages. Arthur opens it with an unimpressed, hazy look. If the way he's weaving ever so slightly is anything to go by, he's made quite a dent in the bottle of wine. The sun is setting and the house is lit up in soft shades of gold and red. Arthur is wearing soft yoga pants that cling to his ass, and a too small Muse t-shirt stretching across his shoulders. He's mussed and beautiful and sad. Eames wants to tuck him up and squish him until no-one else can hurt him. Ever.

"I brought food," he says in lieu of actually doing those ridiculous things.

"Thanks," Arthur slurs and makes his wobbly way back to the kitchen.

"Don't worry, there aren't any peas. Just good old fashioned sandwiches," he lays them out in their wax paper on the block.

"What is it?" Arthur pokes at the box he hasn't opened yet. 

"Ah! No, that's a surprise," he places it onto the work surface across from them and pours the remainder of the wine into his own glass before sitting down next to Arthur. 

Arthur stares forlornly at the empty bottle. "That was mine, Eames."

"Shush and eat your dinner."

Arthur complies, with a tentative bite that must've woken up some kind of hunger in him because he tears into the rest of it and, before Eames knows it, the food has disappeared and Arthur is licking mayonnaise off his fingers. The bastard is forever driving Eames to distraction.

"That was good, thanks. Sorry I was an asshole before."

"Don't mention it, love. Just think of it as payback for all the times I've been an asshole to you," he winks.

Arthur gives him a shallow smile and heaves a sigh. "You're still kind of a dick for drinking all the wine."

"Now, now, if you keep being so rude I won't show you my surprise."

Arthur perks up and he sits up straight, shutting his mouth in a thin line and widening his eyes.

"Alright. Who can say no to that face?" Eames laughs and pulls the box over to them. He flips it open and slides the enormous cake out, setting it gingerly on the table. He licks icing off his thumb and searches the drawers for a knife.

"I asked the bakery for the most expensive and decadent cake they had."

It's a towering chocolate creation, with chocolate shavings and curls of icing. In darker chocolate the bakery have iced "Happy Birthday, Mal" in cursive script. Eames digs in his pockets and pulls out the package of candles.

"What...Eames?" Arthur's mouth is hanging open.

"I know I didn't know Mal as well as you did, Arthur. But I imagine that if she knew you were celebrating her day of birth with cheap wine and moping alone she'd be furious with you. She would've demanded something expensive and chocolate. And..." he puts only a few candles on the cake, lighting one and using it to light the others, "she would've never let you put her actual age on it."

Arthur laughs and shakes his head as Eames hits the lights and sits across from him. Arthur stares at him, his face lit by the candles and tears slowly tracking down his face; he's mesmerizing, and Eames feels an aching pain in his chest. 

"Make a wish," he whispers, afraid to break the spell. Arthur closes his eyes and Eames closes his own, unable to look. He's absolutely going to lose this bet, because he can't do it. He's going to be out half a million pounds because he loves Arthur. It's not even a revelation, he's known all along. Admitting it makes him feel warm inside, and he can't help but smile when Arthur looks straight at him before blowing out all the candles.

"What did you wish for, love?" 

"If I tell you it won't come true."

They're still whispering, and the only light in the room is coming in through the large windows from the moon outside.

"Come lie with me, please?" Arthur says, almost too quiet to hear. "I don't want to...do anything. I just don't want to be alone."

"Of course. Anything for you," Eames says and he really means it, his heart fluttering in his chest when Arthur smiles and pulls him off the stool and further into the house.

Arthur spends the next day napping, following the sun like a cat. He gets up a few times to throw up and moan about being _'too old to drink like this anymore.'_

"Nonsense, love. You look fresh as a daisy."

His hair is standing on end and curling at the back of his neck, free from its usual shellacked prison, he has terrible dark bags under his eyes, and no matter how many times he brushes his teeth or showers he still smells faintly sour, like stale alcohol and vomit. But Eames still him lovely and presses kisses to his wrinkled forehead when he brings him more Gatorade and toast. 

Arthur stands in the doorway, his hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, not looking up at Eames. 

"You can stay. You know...if you want. I mean your luggage is here and you're already here. Only if you want though."

"Okay. I'll stay," Eames tries to fight back his smile.

"You will?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Oh. Well, good. I'm glad," he then disappears back into his bedroom, his socked feet swishing against the hard wood floors.

***

Eames is starting to feel a bit restless. Arthur slept all day and now he's beginning to resemble a human being. A human being who just inhaled almost two whole pizzas while Eames looked on in awe, his own slice drooping, forgotten in his hand. Eames imagines that he'll never get tired of watching him eat. Something about his mouth and single minded enjoyment leaves Eames feeling pleased and a little jealous. He'd give anything to have that turned on himself.

He's getting increasing amounts of texts from Yusuf, who continues to use ridiculous emoticons while counting down the hours to midnight. Eames hunts for a jerking off emoticon but settles for an angry face instead. It's decidedly unsatisfying. He'd never tell Yusuf, but every text that comes with every hour passing unfurls something warm inside of him. He actually can't wait to lose this bet. He'll happily fork over the money, and at one minute past midnight he'll have Arthur in his gorgeous big bed. And there'll be very little sleeping going on tonight.

***

Naturally, things do not go as he'd planned. He's going to have to go for a late run - Arthur's neighborhood is suburban and well lit, and he needs to get out of the house. He's feeling an ever present itch of shame. He can't believe he made a bet over having sex with anyone, much less Arthur. Who, now that he's in the mood for admitting things to himself, he's always had a bit of a crush on. He knows he has to tell Arthur about it before they go any further and he's not looking forward to it.

All he can do is make sure he deliberately loses; it may be his only saving grace. And if he has any hope of lasting, he needs to get away from Arthur for a little bit. Mussed and sleepy Arthur is the sexiest Arthur, and Eames is only human. Arthur has been curled up next to him while they watch nature documentaries on his over sized television.

"Did you know Koalas sleep like 22 hours a day?" Arthur supplies, turning so his chin digs into Eames shoulder and his breath ghosts over his ear. "I think that sounds great. I want to come back as a Koala when I die."

"I've heard they're right nasty creatures and piss on people."

"Don't fuck up my parade, Eames," his voice is low and threatening, and he kicks Eames' legs lightly.

Arthur breathes quietly and, without looking, Eames knows he's being watched.

"Eames?"

He hums and turns to look. Arthur reaches up and pulls his head down. The angle is awkward, but Arthur's mouth is wet, and warm, and responsive. He tastes of pizza and faintly of toothpaste as his tongue swipes into Eames' mouth. Eames pushes Arthur back down on the couch and crawls over him, holding himself up on his elbows as he kisses back. They stay like that, stopping to pant into each other's space and smile at each other. They're absently rocking into each other, but it's an afterthought. Arthur's hands are gripping the back of Eames' arms and he might have bruises later but the thought pleases him. He uses the leverage of his elbows to rock down harder and Arthur moans loudly. Eames laughs, burying his face in Arthur's neck to breathe him in and worry a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind his ear.

His ministrations are interrupted by the buzzing of his phone that he can feel vibrating against his hip.

"Kinky," Arthur laughs as Eames tries to fish it out without sacrificing any of their bodily contact.

It's Yusuf. He drops the phone and groans; they have three hours left and Eames was about to fuck it all up without even meaning to. He releases his hands out of Arthur's hair and sits back, adjusting himself.

"I think I need to go for a run."

"Right now?"

"I'll be back, love. And I promise to finish this, but later. I just need about three hours."

"That's a very specific time frame," Arthur crosses his eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Is it okay though?"

"Will you explain why later?"

"Yes. Absolutely," Eames nods, already getting off the couch to change.

"Well, I guess I have no choice then."

"Oh love, you always have a choice with me," he leans down to cup Arthur's chin, and rubs a thumb against the thin skin beneath his eye.

"Seems I don't," he softens his words with a genuine smile and a light shove. "Go. Run or whatever. I'll just be here. All by myself. Alone with my TV."

"Your life is such a hardship, Arthur."

So he runs. He spends an hour looping around the neighborhood, waving at late dog walkers, and they wave back. No one looks at him in suspicion and he enjoys it, being a normal person for a minute. He imagines that this is his routine and he'll get to know the neighbors and their dogs' names. He finishes the run feeling still and content inside.

***  
"Go take a shower," Arthur demands as soon as he walks in the door. Eames ignores him, standing with the fridge open, guzzling a bottle of water.

Arthur glares at him from the hallway, his arms crossed. Eames holds his hands up in surrender and reaches behind him to pull his vest off over his head. He throws it at Arthur when he walks by and grins at the way Arthur watches him. He preens a bit, flexing his muscles and leering until Arthur shoves him into the bathroom.

"Go. Now. Be thorough. I have plans," It's Arthur's turn to leer before shutting the door and Eames groans as his dick gets instantly hard. He has a little less than two hours and he's not sure he can make it. In the shower he lets himself come, taking his cock in hand and jerking off at a frantic pace. He feels the tension bleed out of him as he cleans the mess off the wall. He's bought himself some time; he only hopes it's enough.

He walks into the bedroom to find Arthur spread across the comforter, naked and hard, and he gulps. He feels his cock twitch valiantly and has never had such a short refractory period in his life. Arthur is flushed all across his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and right down to his chest. He's all long lines and smooth, pale skin. Except for his hairy arms and legs, and he has a thin little happy trail leading down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair. His dick is long and a little curved, resting against his belly at an angle. Eames imagines the way it'll feel moving inside him, the curve hitting his prostate just right. Probably without effort knowing Arthur.

"Arthur. You're going to be the death of me," he clutches his towel tighter but sits on the bed beside Arthur's hip. He lets a hand slide along the outside of Arthur's thigh, sliding his palm down and over his knee. Arthur lets his legs fall open naturally and Eames heaves a sigh at the sight of Arthur's balls, soft and heavy, and he just wants them in his mouth.

"We can't," he means it as a declaration, but it ends up coming out more like a whispered question.

"Eames, I really want you to fuck me. And then later, I can fuck you if you're into that."

"Oh my days," he squeaks. Manfully. He clears his throat and tries again. "Yes. I am. Into that. Very much."

"Good," Arthur strokes himself in a loose fist, his eyes closed and his pink mouth slightly open. Eames grasps at Arthur's ankle, wanting to touch but not trusting himself with anything higher up than that.

"Eames, come on. Please."

"Just a little longer," Eames mutters, his eyes tracking the movement of Arthur's hand, the way his teeth are caught in his bottom lip.  
Arthur lets himself go and sits up, he gives Eames his best death glare and in one graceful movement is straddling Eames, his cock pressed between them and hands on Eames' shoulders to hold himself up as he grinds down. Eames is already half hard and he grips at Arthur's hips, unable to stop himself.

"Arthur. Wait. I have to...can I tell you something first?" he's proud that he manages to get that out with a lapful of naked Arthur. His brain is short circuiting and he's having trouble remembering why this is a bad idea. 

"I already know, Eames," Arthur doesn't stop circling his hips as he bites at Eames' shoulder.

Eames hisses and rocks up into Arthur's ass a few times.

"Wait. Damn it, Arthur," he grips harder at Arthur's hips and forces him to stop moving.

"What do you know already?"

Arthur sighs as though Eames is the densest person in the world. Which Eames is starting to feel like anyway, so he gives him that.

"I already know about the bet."

"What?!" Eames leans back to get a good look at Arthur's face.

"Eames, I'm a pointman. Not just any pointman, but the very best in the business," he says it not even slightly as though he's bragging, but simply stating the facts. "You expected me to not find out? I knew even before the job."

"You've known this whole time?"

Arthur shrugs, and his mouth ticks up to one side.

"I can't....you were fucking with me!" Eames feels cold as the realization hits him.

"Maybe a little."

Eames attempts to extricate himself, his heart pounding slow and sluggish, but Arthur won't budge.

"Eames, wait! I admit that I _was_ messing with you a little. But can you really blame me?"

"No, guess not," Eames stops trying to move and just slumps back on the bed, his arms flung up above his head. Arthur loses his balance a little and sways, before knee-walking further up the bed and settling himself down, one hand splayed across Eames' chest for balance.

"Look. This is dumb. I didn't just know because of general pointman duties. I also...kind of...sort of...keep track of you. All the time."

Eames lifts his head and tilts it to the side. "You do what now?"

"I track you. Okay. I just like to know you're still alive and not rotting in some alley cause you made a stupid decision," Arthur has his arms crossed and is tense, his face a picture of furious embarrassment. If anyone can pull it off naked, it's Arthur.

"But why me?" Eames is mystified.

Arthur glares and smacks him in the chest. Hard. Eames winces and rubs at the spot. 

"Because I love you, you fucking tool."

"What?!" Eames does manage to knock Arthur off him this time, in a rolling move of flailing elbows, and now Arthur's glaring up at him while Eames hovers over him.

"I. Love. You. You. Fucking. Tool. Did I stutter?" Arthur won't look at him, his eyes focused somewhere around Eames' nipples.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Eames. You're asking me why I didn't tell my coworker, who fucks everything that moves, that I love him, in a desperate, pathetic, pine-on-the-couch-and-pay-people-to-keep-track-of-him-for-me kind of way? Is that what you're asking?"

Eames stares down at Arthur until he huffs and looks at him.

"I love you too. In a desperate-pathetic-I-had-to-make-a-bet-with-someone-to-give-myself-permission-to-let-myself-try-and-be-with-you way."

Arthur silently glares at him before smiling with all his teeth and dimples, and rolling them over again.

"We're a right pair of idiots, aren't we?" Eames smiles back at him.

"No. You're the idiot. I'm perfect."

"Oh right. Silly of me."

The clock on the table tells him it's a little past eleven and he settles himself into the bed, stretching up and making Arthur wobble.

"So we have about 45 minutes until we can fuck. What shall we do in the meantime?"

"Oh no, you're fucking me now," Arthur calmly states. 

"No, I'm not. Not a minute before midnight, darling."

"I don't give a shit about the bet, Eames. Just split the money with me."

"But I give a shit, Arthur."

"But what if it's what I want?" Arthur pouts, and it should look ridiculous but Eames can feel his resolve crumbling, and the urge to just say yes overtaking him; anything to just stop him from making that face is almost too much to handle.

"I just don't want our first time to be tainted."

"It won't be," Arthur stretches himself out over Eames, the towel long gone, and interlaces his hands in Eames'. He stretches them both out above their heads and kisses Eames' filthy and wet. Eames is hard instantly and all thoughts of protest vanish as he kisses back. He almost doesn't notice the feeling of cold steel and the soft snick before Arthur sits back, looking triumphant.

Eames gapes and tugs at his arms, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard.

"What the fuck, Arthur?"

Arthur ignores him, exploring his chest with long fingers, tracing the lines of his tattoos and leaning forward to lave his tongue across them.

"I wanna ride your cock, and you were boring me with your incessant chatter."

"You just had bloody handcuffs here in your bed?" Eames can't help the welling up of jealousy as he bucks his hips up and tugs his hands again. He can feel that they're padded; meant for the bedroom not for criminals.

"I was a Boy Scout - always be prepared," he bites at a nipple, making Eames gasp.

"No you bloody weren't," Eames can hear how his voice has lowered an octave.

Arthur shrugs again, making his way down Eames' torso, stopping to bite or suck a bruise here and there. His hands are pressed hard into Eames' hips bones keeping him still.

"Look. Eames. I won't fuck myself on your cock if you don't actually want me to," his business-like tone is betrayed only by the way he sucks Eames' cockhead in and licks at the precome before popping off with a lewd sound.

Eames makes a strangled noise and pants heavily, looking up at the ceiling as though he might get some divine inspiration. Arthur continues to lick and squeeze, going lower as he sucks one of Eames' balls in his mouth, rolling it around before letting it fall out. He pushes Eames' thighs further apart and pushes his hands up under Eames, lifting him a little, using his thumbs to spread him open, and licks across Eames' hole a few times.

Eames curses and rocks his hips down against Arthur's mouth. After a few minutes, Arthur sits up and Eames resolutely does not make a whimpering noise when he moves off the bed to stand next to it. His cock bobs in Eames' face, not close enough to reach but Eames tries straining against the cuffs and sticking his tongue out to taste.

"Eames. I need you to pay attention," he steps closer with a hand held around the base of his cock and runs it across Eames' bottom lip, not letting him suck it in, but just enough that Eames can taste him, and he moans around the tip.

"I'm not going to do this if you actually don't want to. So tell me yes."

Eames looks up at him in a daze. He is so painfully hard that he's circling his hips without thinking, trying to find friction. He tries to take a few breaths and remembers why he said no. The clock says 11:30 and he hates it with a single minded focus.

"Eames. You have to say yes or I have to leave. I can't..." he pauses, taking a deep breath, and moves completely out of reach. "I can't stay in here and not fuck you."

"Yes. Yes. Yes," Eames nods and tries to reach for Arthur, but is stopped short by his restraints.

Arthur breathes a heavy sigh, his shoulders relaxing and he's smiling again.

"Okay. One yes would've been sufficient, but okay."

"Shut the fuck up and let me out of these."

"Nope! Don't think I will," Arthur calls out as he disappears into the bathroom. Eames grits his teeth in frustration as he hears the sound of brushing teeth and the rattling of drawers.

"I just wanted to be able to kiss you again," Arthur standing in the doorway, naked, with lube and a condom held in his fist, still manages to look sweet and shy.

"That's lovely and romantic, Arthur darling, really, but I think I might explode if you don't do something about this soon," he thrusts his hips up to indicate his leaking hard on.

"Oh, right," Arthur scrambles across the room and back onto the bed. 

He settles himself over Eames, knees on either side of his hips, and hands pressed into his chest. Eames' breath hitches and he closes his eyes, trying to slow down his heart which is currently beating like a nervous school boy's. Arthur runs his hands down the inner skin of his arms and it tickles, making Eames want to fold in and protect himself. He can't though, so he settles for bucking up at Arthur and scowling.

Arthur laughs and holds on, not losing even a bit of balance.

"Shhh. I got you," Arthur pets his chest and picks up the lube from beside him.

Eames relaxes, letting Arthur's words flow over him, and his stomach unclenches, knowing the words are true. He settles back into the bed and watches Arthur through his eyelashes. Arthur kneels up, swings a leg over, and turns around, giving Eames a lovely view of the sway of his back and the dimples right above his beautiful arse. His fists clench as he thinks about touching it; marking the pale skin with his teeth and the palm of his hand. He growls when Arthur leans forward and brings his hand, long fingers covered in slick between his legs. Eames has a front row view as one, then two fingers disappear in his clenching hole. Arthur moans loudly and Eames swallows thickly when a third slides in. He fights the urge to close his eyes; it's so hard to watch and not get to participate. He wants to feel the way Arthur clenches around his much thicker fingers. Arthur is fucking himself down on his own hand now, scissoring his fingers open as he goes.

"Turn around, Arthur." Eames' voice is a guttural growl now, and Arthur visibly shivers at the command.

His fingers slide free and they both let out a sad little moan at the loss. Arthur turns around, straddling Eames again. His pupils are blown wide and he has a dazed smile on his face, his hair standing on end and his chest heaving. Eames gasps and bites his lip around a desperate moan.

"Please, Arthur. Fuck me," he lifts his hips to rub his cock deep into the crease of Arthur's ass.

Arthur doesn't reply, but he takes the hint. He rolls on the condom with one hand, and the first touch of his strong grip around the base of Eames' cock has him biting his tongue. He can taste copper, but feels no pain, because Arthur has started sliding slowly down onto his shaft.

The head pops in past the rim with a little effort, and Arthur pauses, his free hand flexing on Eames' chest leaving scratches. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing heavily through his nose. Then he lets go and slides down almost all at once until his ass rests against Eames' balls, and he stops again, shifting his weight from side to side, grinding his hips in a tight circle. Eames can only think hot, wet, tight, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from bucking up against Arthur until Arthur's ready. The shifting turns into a slow rolling of his hips and soft breathy sighs from Arthur.

"Arthur," Eames moans, swallowing the R. He feels a shiver of fear at the way his accent thickens. His control is slipping and his heart stutters with it. Arthur sits up until Eames' cock is almost completely out of his ass, and then slides slowly back down. Eames can feel every centimeter slipping in and he's thrashing with the need to touch. He wants to leave his mark with his teeth and he wants to feel sweat slick skin. He lets out a frustrated roar and gives one last pull on the cuffs; he hears a snapping sound, and the sudden momentum has him tumbling into Arthur and knocking them both back onto the bed as Eames slips out.

"I'm sorry?" he's kneeling over Arthur, taking great gulps of air as he stares at his wrists - each have a half a cuff dangling from them.

Arthur blinks and laughs. "It's fine, they were old."

"How old?" Eames growls, pressing Arthur back down into the mattress, covering him fully. It helps keeps the jealousy rolling beneath the surface at bay.

Arthur shrugs and bites at his shoulder, their cocks slide together and Eames' brain fuzzes out when Arthur arches up beneath him.

"I can get the key if you'll get off me." Arthur pants out, still pushing their hips together.

"No time." Eames reaches between them, scooting back, and grasps his cock; he pushes one of Arthur's knees up to his chest, and enters him again. He tries to take it slow, to take his time and show Arthur how tender he can be, but the caresses quickly turn into bruising grips and the kisses morph into stinging bites and then Eames is pounding into Arthur's ass, his knees pushed up around his ears. Eames' speech has been reduced to a continuous wordless growl, he can feel it shuddering through him as he comes, and lets himself drop back down, smothering Arthur with his weight. It takes a minute to blink through the afterglow, but then he can feel Arthur hitting at him.

"Hey, asshole. I'm not done!" Arthur kicks him in the shin with his free leg.

"Oi. Violent," Eames gathers himself back up getting only so far as the V between Arthur's legs before dropping back down in a heap. He engulfs Arthur's cock without warning and feels smug when Arthur lets out a shout and arched up into his mouth. It doesn't take Arthur long before he's coming and Eames takes it all. He rolls off and lies down next to Arthur's hip, watching as Arthur comes down, his breathing slowing as he slides down to face Eames.

They lie like that, trading kisses until they both fall asleep, sticky and sweaty and content.

***

_Three Months Later_

"Are we going back to California after this one?" Eames grabs his suitcase off the luggage carousel and drops it on top of Arthur's on the trolley.

"I don't know. Maybe we could go to London? Mess up your sheets for a while," Arthur is busy with his phone, not looking at Eames.

Eames stops walking and watches Arthur, his face furrowed into a frown and his mouth moving slightly, soundless as he reads. Eames feels a burst of giddy happiness, a goofy grin enveloping his face, and without thinking he grabs Arthur around the waist, ignoring his squawk and kisses him breathless. 

Arthur swats at him for a second before giving in and kissing him back.

"God, I just love you so much," Eames breathes across Arthur's lips, before setting him down.

"I know," Arthur shrugs and straightens his suit out, swiping imaginary dust off and going back to his phone.

"What?! You're not the Han Solo in this relationship!" Eames shouts to Arthur's retreating back. 

" _I know..._ bloody ponce arsehole," Eames mutters to himself and grabs the trolley, trudging after him.

They're in the cab when Arthur presses into his side.

"I love you too, Eames," Arthur looks down at his lap, squeezing his fingers together, his mouth twisted into a sideways smile.

"Oh you're a right arse," Eames pulls him into his lap and bites his stupid, big ears. 

***

At the warehouse Yusuf is smirking and talking about all the renovations he's been doing in his dream den.

"It's all thanks to Eames really," Yusuf yells across the empty space and laughs at Eames' scowl.

"I'm not an entirely terrible person. I'll give you a chance to win your money back, Eamesie."

Arthur isn't there, he's gone to meet with their client, but Eames still checks behind his shoulder before narrowing his eyes at Yusuf.

"I bet you can't get Arthur to move in with you before the end of the year."

Eames grins and nods.

"I'll take that bet, mate. What are your terms?"

Ariadne looks on, scandalized as they work out the amount and specific timeline.

Later, in their hotel room, Arthur slides exhausted into Eames' lap, mouthing at his neck. Eames wraps both arms around his waist and hauls him closer, letting Arthur sink into his bulk.

"So, Ari told me something interesting today. She's very upset with you and Yusuf."

Eames laughs into Arthur's hair. "What have we done then?"

"Something about a bet and you being a jerk who doesn't deserve me."

"Ah. What did you say?"

"I told her I already knew you were a jerk who doesn't deserve me,"

Eames squeezes him until he lets out a pained oof.

"Are you going to tell Yusuf that we already moved in together?"

"Ah, no. I figure we can use his money to renovate the new house."

“Technically, we shouldn’t have to win the money back since we actually won the first time. I still can’t believe that you told him _he_ won. He’s been insufferable.”

Arthur sighs and slides off his lap. The argument is a familiar one and Eames knows the script.

“I know, love. I just wanted us to start out because of us, not because of some stupid bet. It makes me feel dirty just thinking about it. Besides, I did win. I won you.”

Arthur smothers a smile and tries to look stern.

“Well you better not lose us anymore money, Mr. Eames.”

He starts undressing, loosening his tie and undoing his cufflinks, while walking down the hall to bed.

Eames doesn’t move, just watches him as his skin is slowly revealed. The way Arthur’s back flexes as he pulls his undershirt over his head is something to be revered.

“Oh, I don’t think I'll have a problem winning this one.”

Arthur looks over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What?!” the smug look slides off Eames' face as he jumps from the chair and runs after Arthur into the bedroom, the sound of Arthur's laughter following him all the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


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